The Same Fears

When I glanced outside, the village soldiers were chatting as they carried a bunch of empty cloth sacks over their shoulders.

“Vert abare~,” said the same armoured guy from before, glaring at me as they crossed by.

They suddenly stopped and turned towards me.

Fear glinted in most of their eyes.

Glaring at me, the armoured guy hesitated briefly, his hand gripping the sacks before throwing two of them into my lap.

I paused, eyeing the pouches before looking back at him.

“Sige~,” he muttered, gesturing for me to follow.

I was hesitant.

Other than when he offered me water, this was the first time he had ever spoken to me.

I got up, slightly afraid, grabbed my backpack and spear, and threw the sacks over my shoulder, copying them.

They waited for me to be ready before continuing walking, and I followed behind.

Taking a left as they left the parking area, they headed towards a part of town I hadn’t explored yet.

They continued talking.

Their shiny armour gleamed in the sun, sometimes too brightly, shining directly at my eyes. The rhythmic clink of the metal pieces echoed between the narrow streets.

I drifted behind them, a distance between us, and continued training with my mana.

The dirt crunched beneath my feet, breaking into loose crumbs, and the birds chirped. The now-awoken town chatted, soft voices and happy cries wandering the small streets.

I looked up.

The white clouds drifted through the skies, casting faint shadows beneath them.

The world smiled. And I smiled back.

I knew people’s perceptions of me wouldn’t change so easily, despite still not knowing why they feared me.

Was it because I carried Yrish, or because I was covered in blood when they first saw me? Or simply because I was different and spoke a strange language?

“We are all the same,” I thought, laughing.

“The unknown is terrifying. It really is.

“Not knowing or fearing what you might learn isn’t something to be ashamed of. I don’t believe the villagers avoid me because they hate me, but because they’re simply afraid and don’t know any better.

“I frightened them when I first appeared with Yrish. I can’t fault them for their fear. I would have felt the same in their place.

“Fear and speculation lie at the root of our defence mechanisms. Humans seek safety and often follow the majority.

“Whether that choice is right or wrong matters less when there’s no immediate risk. Following the crowd feels safer than embracing the unknown.

“I’m still afraid of them, too. That dread hasn’t disappeared.

“My struggles with social anxiety won’t vanish overnight.

“However, for the first time, I can genuinely say that I understand them.

“Even if some pieces are still missing, and mysteries beyond my comprehension remain, I can see why they act the way they do. Judging them would make me nothing more than a hypocrite.

“The alienation will likely continue.

“That’s normal.

“But I forgive them.

“Not because they’ve earned it, but because it’s the only way I know to move forward.

“They may never accept me, and that’s okay. My burden is to keep moving, holding onto the hope that I can someday belong.”

When I came back to my senses, I realised I had lost focus on my training. I was also far behind the soldiers.

I dashed back to catch up with them and resumed my training, this time trying to suppress my mana and change my mana patterns.

It was now much more difficult to focus while walking.

Looking to the right, the ruins of what looked like an old castle came into view. Before it lay the wreckage of towers and ramparts.

Vines, moss, and wild plants covered everything. It seemed completely abandoned.

Beyond the ruins, the city walls rose, also damaged and overgrown with greenery.

We were at the edge of the town.

As I expected, it was quite small. Perhaps only a hundred or two hundred people lived here at most.

However, I couldn’t look around any longer. The soldiers turned left into a building.

I would have to come back here if I wanted to explore further.

I stepped inside.

The walls were mostly wooden, with huge stones forming the lower half, much like the rocky walls of the houses in town.

The ground was packed dirt, nearly hidden beneath a layer of dry hay. Each step crackled through the brittle blades.

A ripe stench of faeces, sour feed, and grain oozed from the gated enclosures.

Inside were the creatures that had pulled our carriages, ones I had begun calling “Rihor”, and several of the sheep-like animals I had seen back in Tristte.

They moved toward one end of the building, leading outside, and I nervously followed.

Behind the stable stood a small storage building and a windmill. Inside, barrels and wooden handcarts were piled high, most filled with vegetables and grain.

The armoured guy began talking while pointing at the food.

When he finished, two of the soldiers left the storage and went in the direction of the mill, while I stayed with the rest of them.

They started filling their sacks with the vegetables and the grains on the carts and barrels closest to the doors.

I paused.

I waited patiently, not knowing if I should follow their lead and do the same.

Were they stealing?

Had they talked to someone beforehand?

I hadn’t seen them talking to another person since we got here.

Perhaps the receptionist was also the manager of this storage house.

I didn’t know what to do.

The thought of stealing made me tremble.

Would they pin it all on me?

No… I doubted that.

They must have had permission. I was overthinking it.

Our creatures were here in the stables after all.

They must have negotiated with someone.

Behind me, a man I didn't know suddenly appeared.

I turned immediately to face him.

He was a bit smaller than me, with dark brown eyes and hair, and dressed in large leather boots and greenish overalls with a beige shirt underneath.

He smiled at me.

“Vert ya adere~ nheru?” The man asked, his voice calm but curious, glancing between me and the soldier.

“Yes. Tro caste~ hur ekit,” he replied. From past interactions, I recognised “Ru” as their word for "yes".

The man gave a nod and then left.

As I turned to face the soldiers once more, the armoured guy pointed at me and said, “Sige~,” darting his gaze towards the remaining vegetables.

The man’s confirmation briefly lifted the weight off my mind.

I set the bags down and started to open them but froze.

Sneezes tore out of me as I swung my head into my forearm.

My blood went cold for a brief moment.

I didn’t know how far this world’s medical knowledge was. What if they saw illness as a curse? What if a sneeze was enough to brand me as something worse than a stranger?

They froze, eyes on me.

I tried to mask my panic. Cold sweat slicked my hands and forehead.

However, to my surprise, the soldiers burst out laughing, saying “Maoriya dra fankore~” all together, likely something close to “Bless you”.

I continued to fill both sacks with the leftover vegetables, tying the knots tightly before hoisting them over my shoulders.

The sacks tugged at my arms, but I kept pace with the soldiers back to the carriages.

While nearing, several voices and joyful chatter echoed from outside the inn. A familiar smell swayed in the air, reaching my nose.

Arriving at the parking area, the soldiers who had stayed back were already preparing lunch for the villagers.

I climbed into the carriage and placed both sacks in the back. Then I sat down on the edge of the carriage, staring at the campfire's flickering embers as they heated the metal pot.

The crowd's noise washed out the muted bubbling. I could no longer hear the birds' playful songs.

The laughter drowned out nature's melodies.

I set down my spear and bag, reaching for food in my backpack when the armoured guy approached.

His eyes showed no signs of compassion. He still disliked me. However, he extended a warm bowl of soup towards me.

Why was he giving me the soup?

He had never offered me anything besides water.

I hesitated before taking the bowl off his hand. Then he immediately turned and walked away.

I watched his back as he left, then stared at the soup. Its aroma reminded me of the Old Man’s dishes.

This was likely his way of repaying my help, yet what should have been a valiant and respectful gesture felt unusually cold.

I was grateful for the food.

Alone in the shaded wagon, I slowly sipped the soup. I hadn’t eaten anything freshly prepared in a week. But its taste wasn’t the same as the Old Man’s.

It didn’t compare.

I chuckled.

That soothing warmth was gone, but this wasn’t so bad.

For now, it was enough.

I smiled faintly as I finished eating.